


Darkness Ascending: The Rise of the Scarlet Serpent

by TeddieJean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark!Lily, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddieJean/pseuds/TeddieJean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his fears, Albus Severus Potter isn't Sorted into Slytherin - his sister Lily is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Ascending: The Rise of the Scarlet Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> When Lily Luna Potter stands in front of every inhabitant of Hogwarts on her Sorting day, she's already strange with her non-Potter appearance and powerful magical abilities. Slytherin suggests a path more daring than she has previously considered. Having arrived, she encounters Ignatius, a kindly Hufflepuff whose friendship she just can't seem to shake, and older, haughty Maura Carrow, who has a side that proves to be distinctly magnetic. A mention of the Deathly Hallows partway through her first year incites a burning curiosity in her, one born of good intentions but with the potential to go terribly wrong. It isn't long before Lily, along with Maura, Scorpius, and a small group of dedicated followers embark on a dark and perilous journey in fanatic pursuit of the Greater Good.

This wasn’t what she had been expecting.

From the time she was old enough to understand the words, Lily had listened eagerly to stories of her parents’ Hogwarts days; tales of secret passageways and illicit defense groups and poltergeists that locked unwary students into suits of armor at night. _It will be different when you go,_ her mother had always told her with a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. _When we were at school, times were dangerous. We only had a few peaceful years – or at least, as peaceful as you can get living with a bunch of underage witches and wizards. Then the War came. Things were very different, then. Everything has changed now; you won’t have to worry._

Far from being encouraged, however, Lily had always felt a little cheated at the thought of missing out on so much excitement. She knew, of course – they all did; had all been schooled about it from a young age – that the War had been a horrible time. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel a little disgruntled that she wouldn’t get the chance to be involved in something so intensively memorable and vibrant.

Her father, though he showed slightly more enthusiasm at the thought of life at the school, also seemed to be under the impression that she needed to be reassured. The day that James had turned eleven and received his letter – and so the day that she began eagerly anticipating her own – he had sat her down on the worn couch at the foot of her bed and consoled her, mistaking her tears of frustration for those of worry at the thought of her brother going off to live in such a volatile environment. She knew that he had had a serious talk with Albus as well that day, but she was also aware that the younger of her brothers was not affecting concern when he ran crying to their mother, wondering if what cousin Victoire said was true about the thestrals eating anyone who stayed out too late at night. As for being tormented by poltergeists or ghosts or other castle spooks, she, Lily, was not concerned. Growing up in a house decorated with remnants of ancient magic, she was confident that she would be more than a match for a gaggle of spirits and Mrs. Norris to boot.

She just had to get past her parents’ suffocating encouragement, and she would be all right. Unfortunately, they seemed to have a tendency to hover over their children on the day of an important event – she well remembered Teddy’s seventeenth birthday party, and the vigorous security measures that had accompanied it, resulting in Hugo being so frightened by the presence of the probity probes that he had been reduced to tears. On each day of importance, a milestone in one of their precious children’s lives, they were so vigilant in their attentiveness that she felt she hardly had room to breathe.

That being noted, on the morning of September first, she should have anticipated the mayhem.

“Mum!” Albus, emerging from his room onto the third-floor landing, wore an expression of utmost concern. “Mum, have you seen my Prefect badge?” In the kitchen, struggling to prepare a quick breakfast, Ginny called back up in exasperation.

“Oh, Al, did you really lose it _again?”_

“I’m sorry, Mum! It should be here; I swear I packed it last night! I only left it on top of my — oh for Merlin’s sake; _James!”_ From several floors above, a thump echoed.

“Wha?”

“James, give it back!” Over the rail of the seventh floor landing, James’s tussled head of hair popped up, plastered with an expression of bewildered innocence.

“Whatever can you mean, little brother?” he wondered in a tone of false befuddlement. “What of yours could I possibly have, and why should I be bothered to steal it when I’m so clearly involved in packing my _own_ trunk?”

“You haven’t finished packing?!” Ginny’s shrill voice rang through every corner of the house, making all three children wince. Even Harry, emerging from the bathroom, poked himself in the eye with his towel, startled.

“Merlin’s pants, Gin, do you have to wake the dead?” he muttered ruefully, resuming the vigorous toweling of his hair.

Unfortunately, the appearance of his father only served to stoke Albus’s vexation.

“Dad, James has my badge!” Despite himself, Harry grinned.

“Are you sure, son?” he wanted to know. Albus nearly stamped his foot in frustration.

“I know he did, Dad; where else would it be?” Harry’s grin grew wider, clearly amused at his younger son’s proclivity for irritability.

“Why don’t you ask Lily?” he suggested slyly, causing Albus to let out a derisive snort.

“Yeah, because _Lily_ is always the culprit,” he drawled. “Right, Dad. I’ll put that one in the books. If I can’t catch James, get him when he comes down for breakfast, would you?” With that, he took off up the stairs, intent upon tackling his older brother and wrestling him into submission. James noted his approach from above, and, before darting off in the direction of the attic, shot Lily a wink. The action was mirrored by Harry, who smirked at his daughter before disappearing to join his wife in kitchen. Left alone on the landing, Lily rolled her eyes and turned back to reenter her room. Her hand drifted absently to her pocket, where the badge, now bright violet, was charmed to spew Stinksap whenever it was touched with a bare hand.

By the time ten-thirty rolled around, the general volume in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, had risen to such a level that even James was growing disgruntled. As Ginny shunted Albus out the door and Harry struggled to carry a tottering pile of three massive trunks, two owl cages, a cat carrier, and three small satchels containing snacks, coins, and robes, the curtains on the ancient portrait of Walburga Black flew open and the woman began to shriek, only adding to the din of hooting owls, yelling children, and a wailing Siamese cat.

“Damned portrait,” Ginny muttered, sweeping past James and Lily with her wand raised to silence the screaming painting. On her way, she bumped into Harry, out of whose arms the trunks cascaded. Rufus, Albus’s eagle owl, burst out of his cage and began swooping in circles around the front stoop, screeching.

They proceeded in this chaotic manner until at last everyone and everything had managed to escape the house at quarter to eleven, leaving Ginny to heckle everyone because they were going to miss the train. Glancing back with one hand wrapped tightly around the handle of her trunk, Sampson the cat’s cage tucked under her arm, and her other hand tightly grasping her father’s, Lily hardly had time to glance back at the house. She managed to catch a glimpse of it, tall and lonely, through the hair obscuring her face, before Ginny and Harry turned on the spot and the five of them in a chain were engulfed in suffocating darkness.

Arriving at King’s Cross, Lily followed at a brisk pace as James and Albus tossed their luggage onto a trolley and jogged ahead, heading straight for the brick wall between platforms nine and ten. Following a little ways behind, Ginny arranged the remaining trunk and carrier on a trolley and followed her husband and daughter down the platform. Breaking into a jog, the three of them glanced sideways to ensure that no Muggles were watching, and swiftly broke through the barrier and out onto platform nine-and-three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood gleaming in the light from the midmorning sun.

“Mum!” Albus called back from halfway down the platform. “Mum, I’ve found them!” Turning, Lily, Ginny, and Harry caught sight of another small family standing expectantly beneath an arch near the seventh carriage down. Smiling, they hurried towards them. A deluge of hugs immediately ensued, during which the children did their best to shrink back. Lily cringed away after a relentless minute, scowling as she attempted to wipe the lipstick from her cheek.

“Okay, Lil?” Hugo, his brown eyes wide, spoke anxiously. Lily turned her nose up haughtily.

“Of course I’m okay,” she said scathingly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Hugo eyed her with an expression of slightly disgruntled awe.

“You’re not nervous?” he questioned disbelievingly. She raised an eyebrow.

“Why should we be nervous?” she replied haughtily. “It’s not like we have any reason to be; James and Al and Rosie are already there, and Teddy’s just started teaching, and besides, there’s Neville and Luna and Minerva and everyone else. We know everyone already.” Hugo’s eyebrows remained pinched in a worried frown.

“But aren’t you worried about what _House_ you’ll be in?” he asked anxiously. Lily shook her head, hair gliding off her shoulders in the light autumn breeze.

“No,” she snorted, as though the idea were simply preposterous. “Hughie, _everyone knows_ that we get to choose where we’re Sorted if we really want to. Besides, what’s wrong with being Sorted somewhere other than Gryffindor? It’s not like your mum or dad will be disappointed; Aunt Hermione said herself that the Sorting Hat almost placed her in Ravenclaw.” Hugo shrugged, though his expression still conveyed utmost concern.

“I wouldn’t want to be in Hufflepuff,” he mumbled. A miffed, moderately offended voice rang out from behind them.

“And just _what_ , may I ask, is wrong with being a Hufflepuff?”

“Teddy!” the general cry went up, and the tall, handsome young man was abruptly struggling to remain on his feet beneath the weight of four young people eager for greetings. Lily was the first to receive a hug, and being shoved to the side by Albus and Rose, who were both clamoring for news about any new teachers, found herself face-to-face with her father for the first time since early that morning. At his expression, she abruptly felt her stomach twinge, for the first time, with slight nervousness — not for her fate at Hogwarts, which she knew would end up all right no matter what the circumstances — but for leaving home for the very first time.

Harry’s knowing smile didn’t help to ease the sudden knot in her chest. She hoped he wouldn’t become emotional.

“Got your wand?” he asked instead. “Better keep it with you in case someone wants to duel on the train.” She nearly sighed in relief. She should have known; her father wasn’t one for tearful goodbyes. She nodded in response, pulling the item from her pocket. It was brand new – not a novel concept, but she was thankful; she had heard many stories from the Weasley side of her family about hand-me-down school supplies, and that list, more often than not, extended to wands. This one was particularly magnificent: ebony and phoenix feather, eleven inches – slightly springy; of dark, shiny wood with elegant carvings on the handle.

It, along with her other school supplies, had made the annual trip to Diagon Alley an exciting one for Lily. Though she had tagged along every year while James and Albus bought their school supplies, and so was no stranger to the multitude of strange and wonderful shops along the cobbled street, there had been something particularly exhilarating about picking out her own belongings. Her potions kit, telescope, cauldron, and other supplies had represented the less exciting side of the trip; among the more thrilling aspects were the purchases of her wand, robes, and broomstick, a Firebolt series XVI, the very newest model. They had all grown up with the knowledge that Harry had been the catalyst to aid the removal of the ban on First Year students bringing their own brooms to school, and she had subsequently been elated to receive her own model in preparation for the start of her school days.

“Dad?” She hated that her voice trembled a little. Harry leaned down to look her in the eye. She was tall for eleven, already taller than Albus, and significantly more so than Ginny; still, he had to bend down slightly to be on eye-level with her. She was glad; she knew he didn’t like seeing her grow up so fast.

“What is it, Lily-Billy?” For once, the old nickname made her want to cry instead of roll her eyes. She ducked her head, thumbing the long sleeves of her black Muggle dress. She didn’t want to cry – not here, in front of her new classmates, when she was already so uneasy. She enjoyed beginnings, but they made her feel vulnerable. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed.

“I — you’ll write to me, won’t you?” It wasn’t what she had meant to say, but the moment she opened her mouth, the words had flown right out of her, to be replaced by a heavy lump that made it hard for her to swallow.

“Of course,” he promised sincerely. His eyes conveyed his seriousness, and not for the first time, she wished that Albus had not been the only one to inherit their bright green. As though reading her thoughts, Harry added, “You usually look awfully like her.” She nodded, knowing that he meant her grandmother – his mother, her namesake, who had died before either of them had gotten to know her. She heard it often. This time, though, his words made her pause.

“What — ?” she let the unfinished question hang in the air like the chilly autumn mist. He smiled, and she felt the warmth to her toes.

“You usually look so much like her,” he repeated. “Today, you look like _my_ Lily.” She smiled back at him shyly, tucking her chin, and he beamed; a smile from her was a rare sight. She had never been an unhappy child, but more often than not, she expressed her emotions through a range of scowls and smirks, the most thought displayed in the little lines of skepticism around her eyes.

Harry loved each of his children with all his heart, no one more than the others, but Lily was his little girl. She had always been different from her brothers, always more mature, more aware; silent, wise, and a little cynical, but undoubtedly affectionate. Watching the three siblings interact, one would assume that she were the elder, not Albus or James. She even looked older, her features narrow and well defined – older, even, than James, who was four years her senior.

When she spoke, mumbling a soft _I am your Lily_ in response, his throat constricted. As the whistle blew to warn families of departure, he pressed a swift kiss to the top of her head and stepped back, taking her hands. They were cold.

“It’s almost time.” She nodded; her eyes were round and solemn. A quiet sniffle met her ears, and she glanced sideways to see Hugo burying his face in his mother’s robes. Hermione murmured to him soothingly; Lily turned back to her father, joined by her mother, who had been wishing James and Albus farewell.

“Now, don’t forget to change into your school robes before you get off the train in Hogsmeade,” Ginny began, holding out Lily’s satchel containing a sandwich and her robes. “Teddy’s already got your trunk safely on the train. I packed you an extra set of pajamas just in case, and I put a surprise in your satchel for you to share with anybody in your compartment, but don’t open it until after lunch, please.” Taking the satchel, Lily attempted to refrain from rolling her eyes, but only partially managed it, resulting in a sort of twitching of her eyelids. Ginny had never been as fussy or overprotective as most mothers she had encountered, and her goodbyes were never as tearful. Yet somehow, over the years, she had become _more_ finicky instead of less so when parting from her children. Today, it showed; she was rarely this anxious.

Accordingly, Lily resolved to be as nice as she could manage.

“I know, Mum,” she responded soothingly. “I won’t forget. And I’ll be okay – Al and James are going to be there, and Hugo and Rose and Victoire, and even Teddy will be teaching. I’ll be _fine._ ” She tried to affect a tone of nonchalance, but in all honesty, her heart was skipping a little. She wasn’t nervous for her own fate, though, so much as theirs; since James was born, her parents had always had a child in the house.

Even that knowledge, however, wasn’t enough to make her feel guilty. She was excited to go, to leave home and merge into the eclectic, refreshingly unfamiliar crowd that Hogwarts would boast, not to mention the multitude of strange and thrilling magical activities that the school would have to offer.

It was with that in mind that she cast her gaze around at the elder members of her family; Ginny and Harry, both with fond, slightly tearful smiles, and Ron and Hermione, their focus mainly devoted to Rose and Hugo with occasional doting glances in her direction. While her parents caught James and Albus in a last, strangling hug, she took a brief moment to examine the other occupants of the platform, some already on the train. She saw no one she knew, but it did not deter her interest. On the contrary, the diverse crowd was one that caught her attention.

Students of all sorts were visible – elder ones, leaning out the windows of carriages to wave at parents and siblings; first years like herself in varying stages of goodbyes, some clinging to their parents in tears, others, like herself, standing impatient and ready for departure. The various wizarding castes, while their differences had grown less prominent in recent years, were still easily distinguishable: from purebloods, standing tall and haughty, already clad in costly robes, to Muggleborns, standing apart with their families, nervous-looking at the thought of being surrounded by so much unfamiliarity. Glancing down at her pretty Muggle dress, a knee-length, long-sleeved black garment with silver trimmings at the neckline, bought specially for the occasion, Lily considered her own standing.

In the Wizarding World, as in her family — though there she was loved and doted upon — she represented nothing particularly remarkable. A halfblood with three pureblood grandparents, she was a middle man, neither nobility nor a newcomer to the Wizarding community. Her childhood had been quite ordinary, though pleasant; she was descended from wealth, yet did not wear it; and her position in the world had never been anything of startling importance. In short, she was pleasantly, comfortably, and decidedly middle-class. The only thing of any importance was the fact that she was related to one of the most famous wizards of all time – well, that and her magic, but hardly anyone knew of that.

It was a well-known fact that by the approximate age of seven, children who would turn out to be witches or wizards began showing signs of magical ability. It was always haphazard and volatile, uncontrollable and messy; in essence, unrefined. This fact had rung true for her parents, her brothers, and so far as she knew, practically everyone else. It had come as something of an oddity, therefore, when at four years old Lily had begun to display signs of magical aptitude. That in itself was irregular, and it had rousted enough interest in both her parents that she had decided not to inform them of the fact that it was, and always had been, completely beneath her control. Realizing at the age of seven that perhaps this was not normal, she had confided in Teddy Lupin. He alone knew of her ability to master all forms of magic available to her, and upon her request, he had not informed anyone else.

It was her hope, however, that Hogwarts would yield others of her kind. She was excited to see if it was indeed the case; comparing levels of proficiency was something she quite enjoyed. It had been her favorite form of entertainment even as a young child, when she had rendered herself invisible during hide-and-seek games and successfully locked her father in the bathroom every morning to prevent his departure to work. Sometimes it had become a source of annoyance and even fear for the rest of her family, namely as a result of the time she dangled Albus upside-down over the fireplace, his hair hardly an inch above the flames. Or perhaps it was due to when, while arguing fiercely with James over her right to order Kreacher about, she had grown so furious that one minute she was glaring harshly at her brother, and then the next thing she knew, James was in St. Mungo’s with deep gashes in his chest and stomach and a turnip for a nose.

She could see why her cousins considered her a little hazardous.

“Write to us tomorrow, Lil, and let us know how everything’s settled,” Ginny reminded her, squeezing her into a last, tight hug.

“I will, Mum,” Lily murmured into her coat. When Ginny let go, she was traded off to Harry, who looked a little forlorn. As the whistle blew insistently for a final time, he released her, allowing her to step back and run a hand nervously through her hair.

“Go ahead.” His voice, while a little quavery, was kind and encouraging. “We’re only an owl away, Lil. You’ll be fine.” Drawing a deep breath, she reminded herself to nod. Her eyes flitted to them both, landing briefly on startling green and lighter brown. Their features were tight with smiles. She forced one to mimic theirs.

“I know I will.” Perhaps it was not intentional, but there was a distinct element of aloofness in her tone, as well as a brief, almost indiscernible flash of haughtiness in her eyes. The sight of it caused the edge of a real smile to flicker in Harry’s expression; he knew his daughter well. This event, while difficult in the moment of parting, would not affect her as it had her brothers and cousins. Younger though she was, there was something undeniably stoic about his little girl that his other children – even James – distinctly lacked.

Firmly keeping the smile planted upon her face, Lily caught up her satchel and turned away. She climbed aboard the train amidst the throng of lingering students, mostly first years like herself, attempting both to retain her footing and eye the others in the group curiously. When she reached the top of the steps, she turned back; as the train slowly began to move away from the platform, she caught sight of her parents’ faces in the crowd. She raised a hand in farewell.

Ginny and Harry mirrored the movement; as the train began to pick up speed, both walked alongside the carriage until it had grown too swift, and, a moment later, chugged quickly around the bend and out of sight.

As soon as King’s Cross was no longer visible, the group at the door began to disperse. Dropping her raised hand to her side, Lily brushed away any lingering twinges of apprehension and began to eye her companions with interest. Most of the older students had already filtered off to sit with their friends in carriages further down the train, leaving the younger ones behind. Some, like Hugo, were sniffling away tears. Lily found the sight of it pitiful; it made a knot tighten uncomfortably in her stomach.

“Enough, Hughie,” she said after a moment. She seized his arm, and his sniffling abruptly stopped. “Let’s go find Vicky and Rosie and Al and James.” Hugo’s nose was scrunched up in despair.

“Rose and James went off to sit with their friends,” he sniffed miserably. “And Victoire had to go to the Prefects’ carriage, remember?”

“Then let’s find Al,” she said impatiently, giving his arm a frustrated tug. “There’s no use standing here like a _crybaby_ , Hughie; let’s go.” He looked up at her with tears brimming in his hazel eyes, but did not say another word; being accused of being a crybaby seemed to have instilled a fragment of indignance in him. Eyes lowered to the toes of his scuffed shoes, he permitted his cousin to lead him down the corridor.

As they nudged and elbowed their way through the masses of people congregating outside compartments, Lily was surprised to see that only a few heads turned to follow them. Albus and James had warned her many times that stares and whispers accompanied them everywhere they went; for some reason, she was seeing very little evidence of that. Perhaps it was because she was in the company of Hugo, who, despite his bright orange hair, looked dismally ordinary. She was aware that her aunt and uncle, like her parents, sat on a fortune that made for exceedingly comfortable living, and Hermione and Rose were always dressed with elegance, but somehow, that sophistication had failed to carry over to Hugo. Perhaps he shared more of his father’s heritage than his mother’s, for though his Muggle clothing was new and clean, it gave the distinct impression of being a little worn-out.

Beside Lily, who looked nothing like him but with whom he still shared blood, therefore making the idea of being siblings plausible, he looked absolutely pitiable. Perhaps that was what redirected people’s gazes, or maybe it was the fact that she bore almost no resemblance to her father and brothers, but either way, hardly anyone on the Hogwarts Express seemed to recognize that she was the daughter of The Boy Who Lived.

Halfway down the train, they were hailed by Albus, who came hurtling out of his compartment to beckon them in. There, they joined a small trio of his friends: Evanna, Willie, and Nate, all third years, and all childhood friends. Willie and Nate, the twin boys of Dean Thomas, sat opposite each other engaged in a heated argument about the rules of Quidditch fouls versus the Muggle game of soccer. Evanna, the daughter of the Potters’ close family friend, Neville, and Lily’s partial namesake, Luna, was sitting on the floor of the compartment with her legs folded serenely under her as she flipped through a dog-eared edition of _The Herbologist’s Encyclopedia, Volume IX._ All three looked up as Lily and Hugo entered.

“Well, if it isn’t the babies of the Potter-Weasley clan joining the Wizarding World at last!” Willie exclaimed, springing from his seat in order to wring their hands. “Welcome, welcome!” Lily shot him a haughty glare, casting his hand away as though it were the bringer of disease.

“Easy for you to say, Thomas; you’ve hardly more magic than a goat,” she said drily, folding herself primly into the seat nearest the door. Willie had the decency to look moderately offended at her comment, but seeing the narrowing of her icy eyes, wisely chose not to retaliate.

Evanna, ever like her mother, settled for a more amiable approach.

“Hi,” she greeted amicably, hardly glancing up from her book. “I’m so glad you’re coming to school with us; you’ll be able to get rid of Wrackspurts on your own, now. Though I don’t know what class they teach that in.” Lily, Nate, and Albus exchanged a look, but did not respond; they were used to Evanna’s odd comments, as Harry and Ginny were used to Luna’s. They had all learned long ago that anything a Lovegood said was not worth arguing against.

And so passed the long train ride from London to Hogsmeade, with frequent interruptions from people in the corridor. Head Girl Victoire stopped in at around the time the lunch trolley was making its way around, and Lily, upon opening her satchel, discovered a large chocolate cake, charmed carefully by Ginny to fit without being squished, and emblazoned with green icing reading _Good luck Lily and Hugo!_ Having divided up the cake between the seven of them, they passed the remainder of the train ride essentially in quiet, the peace being disturbed only once by the sudden appearance of James, who had momentarily deserted his friends to pop in and engage in a brief but lighthearted duel with the object of his affections, Hannah Abbot’s daughter, who was passing.

By the time the voice of the conductor rolled through the compartments telling them to dress and prepare to disembark, darkness had long since fallen. As Victoire hurried back to the Prefects’ carriage to aid in the supervision of younger students, Evanna calmly rose from her position on the floor and beckoned to Lily. The two stepped out of the compartment to permit Albus, Willie, and Nate to change, and then switched places to do the same. Despite her earlier conviction that there was nothing to worry about, Lily felt the first hint of real nerves rising as she carefully packed away her Muggle dress in her trunk and pulled on her school robes for the first time since buying them weeks ago in Diagon Alley.

As the train’s motion slowed, Lily cast a nervous glance at Evanna. The older girl was staring forward serenely, her luminous white-blonde hair illuminating a subtle glow in the dim carriage. The light from the magical wall sconces cast her features into flickering shadow so that it was impossible to read her eyes. Lily swallowed hard.

“Ev?” The soft query was almost a whisper; she didn’t want the boys to hear the nervousness in her voice. Evanna turned her head slowly to fasten her unashamed stare on the younger girl. Lily’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Ev, do you think that . . . nothing bad will happen, right?” In the dancing shadows, the left side of Evanna’s mouth quirked upwards. Somehow, it was clear that she was the only one to whom Lily would ever consider addressing such a question. Even at that, she might not have done, but the moment of anticipation before the commencement of life in a new world seemed to have pushed the words from her lips.

“No,” was the only answer she received, quiet and frank, but for Lily, it was enough. Perhaps it was the fact that she had grown up hearing stories of Luna’s unexpected levelheadedness during emergencies, and witnessing Evanna’s firsthand, but Lily had a distinct feeling that no matter how extreme the crisis, she would always be calmed by a Lovegood’s easy presence.

She managed a shaky smile in response as the Hogwarts Express trembled and jolted to a halt, but as they stepped from the train onto the misty, shivery Hogsmeade platform milling with rowdy students, she felt a fraction of her nerves returning. Evanna and Albus had vanished into the crowd, and within moments, Willie and Nate followed, leaving her alone at the edge of the noisy flood of strangers. Rationally, she knew that there was nothing to be afraid of, that no matter the outcome of tonight, tomorrow she would wake up in a comfortable bed, attend breakfast with the multitudinous members of her family, and settle into a new and exciting world of magical possibilities. Unfortunately, abruptly deprived of her companions and left without a clear idea of what she was supposed to do next, she could not help but feel a little unsettled.

However, as the eerie cry of a thestral drifted over the crowd, making her blood tingle in response, she was abruptly reminded of why she was there.

She stood on that platform because she possessed power known to an expansive yet still relatively small corner of the population; whatever her position in the world, magic ran through her veins, and with that gift came endless possibility. Her world, as she had the power to create it, was boundless, and with the chilly night air slithering tendrils over her cheeks, she came to recognize the significance of that privilege. This was her realm, the mystery of night, the unfamiliarity of newness, and the awakening chill of the cold, and the magic that sparked in the very particles of the air. She had nothing to fear.

“Firs’ Years! Firs’ Years, over here!” A grin spread across her lips at the familiar sound of Hagrid’s voice; she turned to see the gamekeeper’s massive figure looming over the heads of scurrying students eager to clamber into carriage and reach the warm castle. Hurriedly, she elbowed her way through the crowd. She beamed up at him upon reaching him, and was bestowed in return with his huge, wild grin.

“All righ’ there young Lily?” She nodded, grinning.

“I reckon so!” She had to shout to be heard over the clamoring of the throng.

“Good!” he responded gruffly. “Best pull yer hood up before we reach the boats; it’s going to be a right bitter crossing tonight.” He was right; it had begun to rain. The cold droplets were sprinkling lightly now, but it was evident by what was visible of the night sky that they would soon be falling hard and fast. Combined with the already freezing air, and the journey across the lake in the leaky rowboats promised to be positively nasty. Lily shivered, and obeyed. The fur-lined hood sheltered her ears and the majority of her face, and her dragon hide gloves would repel the water, but she could already feel the rain beginning to soak through the arms and thighs of her cloak.

Keeping her arms tucked firmly against her chest, she followed Hagrid and the other congregated first years off the platform and down the treacherous, slippery forest path to the edge of the lake. She and her fifty-something classmates stared up in awe at the gigantic castle set atop the hill, each window emanating cheerful light, silhouetted against the dark sky. They all wanted to stand on the beach for longer, eyeing the impressive structure from such a good vantage point, but before the passage of a minute, the rain was falling too heavily to enjoy the view. At Hagrid’s command, they divided up into groups of four, clambered into the rickety boats, and cast off.

Within seconds, they were drenched to the skin. While the platform and forest had been sheltered, the lake was devoid of any barrier, and the freezing wind chapped their wet faces and limbs. The black water rose up in a freezing spray at the bow of the boats, soaking their robes. Lily shivered. She tried to ignore the discomfort and focus on the castle looming ever closer in front of them, but soon the cold numbed her fingers, and she devoted her energy to trying to stay warm.

They were all relieved when a little over twenty minutes later they passed through the curtain of vines into the sheltered cove beneath the castle. Stepping from the boat on wobbly legs, Lily threw back her hood and grouchily surveyed her soaking garments. Immediately, a hiss not unlike that of a snake issued from her feet, and her cloak and robes billowed out momentarily around her. When they settled, they were warm, soft, and completely dry. A freckle-faced boy nearby gaped.

“How did you do that?” he demanded, shocked.

A voice from behind her piped up, “Oi, Chester! Did you see that?”

“That’s a full-fledged de-moisturizing charm, that is!”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“That’s an O.W.L. standard spell!”

“She didn’t even use her _wand!”_

In response to her classmates’ awed interrogation, Lily merely shrugged. She didn’t know how she had managed the spell; it had only been a matter of thinking of it. It hadn’t even been particularly difficult. Sensing her inability to explain, and clearly not wanting her to be the subject of unwanted attention, Hagrid called loudly over their insistent voices.

“All righ’, all righ’, that’s enough! Time ter be getting inside, now!” In their relief at the thought of a warm, dry place to stand, the first years moved collectively up the hill towards the front doors of the castle. At Hagrid’s knock, it was whisked open, and the soaked, shivering eleven-year-olds were ushered through the oak doors to stand dripping in the cavernous entrance hall.

Lily stood at the fringe of the group, unwilling to come into contact with others’ wet robes, and grinned at Teddy Lupin. Feeling her gaze upon him, he shot her a brief but warming smile. When he cleared his throat pointedly, the group’s chatter ceased. His smile broadened to include them all.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” he greeted cheerfully, spreading his arms wide to gesture to the enormous hall. “In a few moments, you will join the rest of the school for the start of term feast. However, before we eat, you will be Sorted into one of the four Houses – Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Slytherin. Each House has its own exciting history and traditions, and together they form our wonderful school. With any one of them absent, Hogwarts would be a very different place.” He paused momentarily, allowing time for them to absorb his words before continuing.

“During the school year, you will be awarded House points for exceptional work, while points will be deducted for misbehavior. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will be awarded the House Cup — an exciting and honorable feat. It is our hope that you will uphold the integrity and character of your House. And remember — no matter how you are Sorted, you are on your way to becoming a fully-fledged member of our magical community, and that in itself is something to be proud of.”

With that, he offered them another friendly smile, and with a jerk of his head, beckoned them to follow him into the hall, where the rest of the school was waiting.

The Great Hall was exactly as everyone Lily knew had described it, but even Albus and Rose’s elaborate descriptions hadn’t done it justice. The long oaken tables were laid were golden plates and goblets, a startlingly bright contrast to the vast black ceiling. Millions of candles hovered in midair above the tables, casting a pleasant glow on the faces of the hundreds of students who had turned to face the new arrivals. Wedged into the front of the troop, Lily and the freckle-faced boy led the way behind Teddy up the center aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. They halted before the magnificent high table from which the staff looked down upon the Hall.

A dirty, slightly scorched, distinctly ancient-looking wizard’s hat sat upon a three-legged stool before the crowd – the fabled Sorting Hat, which Lily knew from her parents’ stories had been partially burned during the Battle of Hogwarts. As the entirety of the Hall fixed their gazes on it, a tear opened above the Hat’s brim like a mouth, and it began to sing.

 _A score and single year ago_  
_On a fateful, dark, clear night_  
_Your fathers and your mothers dear_  
_Proved that magic is not might_

 _When set ablaze by evil men_  
_History flashed before my eyes_  
_I recalled the youth I’d sorted once_  
_Who now lighted my demise_

 _It came to my mind in a flash_  
_When I thought the end was near_  
_Once I was gone, there’d be no way_  
_To Sort you every year!_

 _The plan was to eradicate_  
_The thought of quarters four_  
_To keep one house, erase the rest_  
_And be united evermore_

 _But in this plan there was a flaw_  
_That the wicked did not see_  
_Though humans work for common good_  
_They still think separately_

 _But don’t let that deter your mind_  
_Let the barriers be breached_  
_In truth all four may serve you well_  
_There’s a part of you in each_

 _So if you land in Hufflepuff,_  
_Where loyalty abounds,_  
_Do not forget where bravery lies_  
_Or where wisdom can be found_

 _Or if you find yourself in Gryffindor_  
_Where chivalry is strong_  
_Do not forget your cunningness_  
_Or that home’s where your heart belongs_

 _Perhaps if you’re in Ravenclaw_  
_Your brains will beat the rest_  
_But don’t neglect your nerve or heart_  
_Keep your shrewdness at its best_

 _And if you are a Slytherin_  
_You’re the proud, determined kind_  
_Just keep your honor and your nerve_  
_And always feed your mind_

 _So put me on, don’t waver here_  
_And don’t fret over fate_  
_I tell you now, you have a choice_  
_To be good, but also great_

 _Remember that you all must Sort_  
_You have since I was sewn_  
_So calm yourself, come try me on,_  
_And I’ll tell you what I know:_

 _Whether I sit here to Sort you all_  
_I know this to be true:_  
_You Sort yourselves — there is no doubt —_  
_The difference lies with you!_

As the Hat concluded its song and fell still and silent, the Great Hall erupted in applause. Moving her still-cold hands together automatically, Lily contemplated the words of the song — as far as she knew, the Hat did not often offer its own insight. Neither, she was certain, did it usually promote the wisdom of unity in the manner it just had — its job was to Sort them, to set them each aside according to a strain of characteristics. To hear it note that each of them possessed the qualities for every House made her wonder what had prompted it to do so.

She would have considered the subject further, but as soon as the applause in the Hall died down, Teddy Lupin stepped back up beside the stool with a long scroll and began to read off names.

“Abbot, Ingrid.” A girl with a bright smile and bright pigtails — the little sister of Christina Abbot, who had caught James’s fancy — darted up to the stool and slipped the hat onto her head.

Hardly a moment later, it shouted out a definitive, _“Hufflepuff!”_ and Ingrid Abbot scurried off to sit next to her older sister as the Hall applauded.

“Acron, Leslie!” A stout, square-faced girl stomped up to the stool.

_“Hufflepuff!”_

“Applebaum, Angie!”

_“Ravenclaw!”_

“Bulstrode, Kevin!”

_“Slytherin!”_

“Donahue, Robert!”

 _“Gryffindor!”_ As Teddy moved down the list of names and the crowd diminished, Lily found herself staring around at the rest of the students in boredom. Once, glancing covertly over at the Gryffindor table, she managed to catch Albus’s eye. He grinned at her and leaned forward to nudge James, who turned in his sister’s direction and impishly stuck out his tongue. Rose Weasley, behind him at the Ravenclaw table, caught the action and elbowed him in the ribs as she sent Lily a friendly little wave. Lily grinned, enjoying their attention and eagerly — though a little anxiously — anticipating her own turn. She tried momentarily to make eye contact with Victoire, but the seventh year was busy engaging in whispered conversation with her friends, and did not notice.

“Marcie-Myer, Stuart!” The freckle-faced boy by Lily’s elbow scurried forward and sat for almost three minutes before the Sorting Hat proclaimed that he was a Hufflepuff. Lily fidgeted with her wand inside her sleeve, itchy with impatience. It had been exciting listening to the Hat’s declarations in the beginning, but she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, and besides wanting to put an end to her nervous anticipating, she was eager to begin the feast.

To her great relief, a minute later, after _Posen, Jane_ was sorted into Ravenclaw, Teddy Lupin called out, “Potter, Lily!” Lily stepped forward on shaky legs, hardly registering the fact that the scattered whispers issuing from various points in the Hall at the mention of her name were fewer than she had expected. She accepted the Hat from Teddy with a shaky half-smile and turned to sit upon the stool. She caught a quick glimpse of James, Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Victoire watching her with rapt attention as the Sorting Hat dropped over her eyes.

She barely had half a second of rapid, thudding heartbeats, not even enough time to form a thought, before the Sorting Hat screamed its declaration into the Great Hall.

_“Slytherin!”_

And then there was silence.

Or at least, there was silence in Lily’s ears; she didn’t register the cheers that went up at the table to her far right or the low, continued conversations of unconcerned older students. As Teddy’s hand removed the Sorting Hat slowly from her head, she didn’t see his troubled expression. She didn’t see the stunned looks on the faces of her entire family, the way their hands were frozen in shock, ready to applaud; she was blind to everything but the blank air in front of her. All sound was muffled and dim, indistinguishable.

When Teddy’s voice broke into her ears after a minute, quietly telling her to go sit down, she realized that she hadn’t moved from the stool. As though in slow motion, she rose and crossed the Hall to sink into onto a bench between the Bloody Baron and a tall boy with a Prefect’s badge on his chest. She stared straight ahead at the wall, oblivious to all sight and sound. She wasn’t even paying attention a minute later when Hugo was Sorted, or when Teddy rolled up the scroll and carried away the stool and the Sorting Hat, and food appeared magically on the plates in front of them. In fact, she didn’t move at all until partway through the feast when the Prefect at her elbow laid a hand lightly on top of hers, at which point she turned to him with vacant eyes that appeared cold in the low lighting.

“You should eat,” he suggested quietly. Vaguely, she shook her head. The motion didn’t feel real, somehow. He removed his hand. “Being Sorted into a different House than you expect is no reason not to enjoy ice cream,” he said. “Every meal here is good, but there’s nothing quite like the start-of-term feast.” The verbal recognition of the issue at hand seemed to snap something back into Lily, something of her old, haughty self, for she drew herself up tall and glared back at him with a closed expression.

“What’s it to you if I go hungry?” she snapped, and the Prefect seemed to grin. She blinked, and his face came into clearer focus — sharp, elegant features and knowing eyes.

“You think you got the wrong House, young lady, but that expression of yours says otherwise,” he commented. Lily’s eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“You look like you just discovered the secret to immortality and plan on keeping it secret,” the Prefect clarified, helping himself to more treacle tart. “Like no one else is worth your notice. That’s a Slytherin look. Classic. They make it every time.” Lily was too caught up in her own inner turmoil to ponder what that meant; she was distracted by the treacle tart; her favorite. Her father’s favorite.

Her father. Oh, Merlin, her family. What could they possibly be thinking? Would they disown her? Call her a disgrace? She didn’t even want to consider what her Uncle Ron would say — she had always thought him to be kidding when he said that they would be disinherited, but would he joke now, knowing that his youngest niece had been Sorted into darkest and most evil-tainted House in history?

In an effort to wipe such thoughts from her head, Lily abruptly leaned forward, shoveled several servings of treacle tart onto her plate, and began fervidly wolfing them down. The Prefect at her elbow watched her with something like approval painting his eagle-like features. Her mouth half-full, she directed a hiss in his direction.

“Go bang a Snargaluff.” He laughed heartily, but obeyed the essence of her crude command and turned compliantly away. When he quickly became engaged in serious discussion with a squat looking girl to his left, Lily took advantage of being left momentarily alone to contemplate her position at the table at which she had never thought she would sit.

Come to think of it, looking around at the other three tables in the Hall, she hadn’t been anticipating any House in particular; she had never felt any particular affiliation towards a House despite her family’s proclivity for being sorted into Gryffindor. In fact, when she considered it, it occurred to her that she had never truly considered which House might become hers. It was safe to say, however, that she would never have anticipated this.

Though she knew it had changed to a degree over the years since the War, Slytherin’s reputation had been and still was one tainted by Dark Magic. Their tendency to churn out Dark Wizards had been highlighted due to Voldemort’s placement there, and the fact that most things associated closely with the Dark Arts — purebloods and Parselmouths, to name a few — stemmed from the House had acted as a sort of virtual bloodstain on its name. This when combined with its dark history often acted as a deterrent for those other than Muggleborns, who didn’t know better, or students coming from a long line of Slytherins.

Lily’s experience, of course, had been different: Harry had raised his children telling stories both of his rivalry with Draco Malfoy and of the bravery of Severus Snape, resulting in them growing up with the impression that Slytherins were cold and unfriendly until a situation arose into which their hearts and morals were dragged. Besides that, their home at number twelve, Grimmauld Place had once been the home of a prestigious Slytherin family, and the relics of such were still inlaid in its structure. The room Lily had called her own since birth had once belonged to Regulus Black, and though his remaining possessions and pureblood relics had been relocated to the attic, the remnants of his distinctive Slytherin style remained in a sense, invisible but indelibly imbued in the walls.

So in the abstract, perhaps this astonishing turn of events was not so terrible in reality, but the unpredictability of it had rendered Lily stony with bewilderment and shock. Her mind partially numb, she remained virtually motionless after the consumption of her dessert until the moment that the Hall fell quiet and the Headmistress rose to speak.

Minerva McGonagall, though she had aged in the twenty-one years since the defeat of Lord Voldemort, still stood straight and imposing as she addressed the Great Hall. The Battle of Hogwarts had made her years older, but she remained as powerful and steadfast as she had always been. Lily, who had grown up with frequent visits to her home, felt her shocked mind ease a little at the sight of her looking down upon them over the tops of her horn-rimmed spectacles.

“Good evening all,” she greeted them formally. “Welcome, and welcome back. It is late, and I’m sure you are looking forward to finding your beds, so I will only say a few words. I would like to remind you all that magic is not permitted in the corridors, that the Forbidden Forest continues to be out-of-bounds — with, of course, the exception of certain classes — and that Mr. Filch has posted a list of contraband items outside his office for the eight-hundredth and thirty-second time. Should you wish to peruse it, I’m sure he would be more than willing to show you, though I would recommend that perhaps you should not linger there.” She shot James and Willie a significant look, and nearly everyone laughed.

“On another note, I would like to introduce two new members of staff this evening. Please welcome our young Professor Lupin, to whom I have renounced the teaching of Transfiguration.” A polite round of applause was particularly enthusiastic from the Weasley side of the room. McGonagall permitted them a smile before continuing. “And as our long-loved Professor Flitwick is retiring, leaving Professor Delacour to take over Charms, we are also welcoming Professor Black, who shall be assuming Professor Delacour’s previous position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, as well as taking on Professor Bletchley’s role as Head of Slytherin House.”

Hearing the name, a great deal of heads swiveled to search the high table. Many of the students exchanged sharp glances, Lily among them. All were familiar with the fabled name of Sirius Black, an innocent man thought guilty for fourteen years, as well as his infamous trio of cousins.

Up at the High Table, the middle Black sister swirled her mead absently in her goblet, blue eyes flashing. Up until the point of being introduced, she had remained demure and inconspicuous in presence, engaging from time to time in conversation with Madam Pomfrey, but for the most part had remained silent. Upon the death of her muggleborn husband, Andromeda had reassumed her maiden name for the purposes of protection against the Death Eaters who were unaware of her disloyalty, and unable to bear the pain of the deaths of her husband and daughter, she had removed herself completely from the Tonks family name. Proud yet reserved, dedicated and astute, it had been Minerva’s opinion that she perfectly embodied the Slytherin values while still retaining a level of awareness, kindness, and maturity that would prevent her from pushing those particular characteristics too far. For while she had transformed upon her departure from the Black family at a young age and become the kind and doting mother and wife Lily’s parents knew her as, she was, after all, a Slytherin, and had been raised by one of the most haughty, disdainful pureblooded families in existence.

Perhaps it was something of an odd choice to allow the sister of Death Eaters to teach the children of the new generation, particularly those who by the very definition of their House could be considered more susceptible to Darkness, but it was one that had been made after much consideration, and the older students in the room, though taken somewhat aback, were well aware of their Headmistress’s deliberation.

The Slytherin table let up a roar of approval at the announcement; though removed from the Black family glory by several generations, nearly all had grown up familiar with the pureblood legacy. Lily hadn’t been raised with the impression that they were of a lineage to be held above others, but she had grown up in the family house with Harry’s stories of school days with Draco, and James’s stories of Scorpius, and was therefore informed yet unbiased. Andromeda had rarely ventured into the public eye since the war, meaning that though she had raised Teddy, she had done so behind the scenes; Lily had only met her twice, and both times when she was very young. She watched Professor Black incline her head in the direction of her new Slytherins, and realized with a vague sense of interest that she would be her Head of House.

In fact, when Professor McGonagall brought her speech to a close, wishing them all good night and informing them that their schedules would be handed out the next morning at breakfast, the Heads of House descended to their House tables. The duty of shepherding the older students out of the Hall fell to the Prefects, while the Heads of Houses remained behind to escort the first years after everyone else had cleared out.

Lily was sitting alone at the end of the table waiting for the older students to filter out when someone appeared at her elbow with a suddenness that made her blink but didn’t quite cause her to jump. Eleven years in the presence of James had taught her well; she had grown up being jumped at and pounced on and ambushed from dark corners, so that by the age of four, she had been particularly adept at reigning in her reactions. Glancing peripherally at the intruder, she noted a scrawny, pug-faced boy with a thatched blonde head eyeing her curiously. When he made no move to speak to her, she swiftly grew irritated.

“What?” she finally asked abruptly, grumpiness evident in every corner of the word. The boy raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry,” he apologized, scooting backwards along the bench. “You were frowning, so I thought you might like a distraction from whatever it is that’s bothering you.” Lily eyed him distrustfully. He smiled. “Unhappy with your House?” he said knowingly. Her eyes narrowed.

“Maybe.” When he only continued to smile at her, she gave in a little. “More confused than unhappy.”

“Ah.” He nodded his understanding. Then followed a long moment of fairly awkward silence, during which Lily stared coldly across the room and the boy picked at the hem of his tattered robes. When a shout of greeting echoed across the hall, startling them both out of their discomfort, the boy straightened up abruptly. “Sorry,” he said, offering her a hand to shake. “I’m Ignatius. Call me Iggy, though; most people do.” She returned the handshake with a solemn nod that did not quite morph into a smile. He let go of her hand, eyeing her with interest. “You’re Lily Potter; I heard it at the Sorting.” She nodded, then abruptly froze.

“Why were you paying attention to me?” He clicked his tongue and gestured towards her head.

“Hair,” was the offered explanation. “I think it’s why no one’s bothered you for an autograph all evening.” She narrowed her eyes even further.  
 “What do you mean?” her tone was cold. He shrugged noncommittally.

“You sure you’re a Potter?” he asked in lieu of an answer. Her jaw tightened.

“Pretty sure.”

“You don’t look it.”

“I know.” She did know; all her life, she had been surrounded by people whose life ambition, it seemed, was to remark as many times as possible on just how little she resembled her brothers. For while James and Albus were their father in miniature, Lily alone had inherited some semblance of her mother’s looks. While a ginger like the maternal side of her family, she possessed not the Weasley’s brilliant, carrot-colored hair, but the striking dark red hue that had made her Evans namesake so flatteringly distinctive. Her eyes, like her Uncle Ron’s, were a startling blue-violet, but she had inherited her mother’s pale skin and high cheekbones and her father’s angular features, all making for a vibrant combination of looks that made her distinctly unlike her family members.

She didn’t look like a Potter; she knew that, and for the first time in her life, sitting across from a complete stranger who had noted her with personal interest rather than for her celebrity heritage, she wondered vaguely if perhaps that could turn out to be beneficial. She had never suffered the same fate as Ginny or Ron, who had lived in the shadow of their siblings all through their school careers, but being the daughter of The Boy Who Lived and the younger sister of two distinct Potters, she had always lived a somewhat prescribed life. Now, a non-look-alike, and a _Slytherin_ to boot, she had, for the first time in her life, the opportunity to forge a life as Lily.

Realizing that, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. There was something comforting in having her shape forged by family ties, but at the same time, she enjoyed sticking out. And apparently, judging by her odd magical abilities and Sorting, she did a pretty good job of it.

“I get being confused, by the way,” Ignatius remarked, drawing her from her reverie. “My Daddy was a Gryffindor, and he was so sure that I was going to be, but then the Sorting Hat picked Hufflepuff instead. Luckily I can’t disappoint him; he died before I got Sorted. Never met my Mum, either, so I don’t know what House she was in, or even if she was a witch.” Lily eyed him scrutinizingly. She had a vague feeling that she recognized him from somewhere.

“What did you say your surname was?” she asked suspiciously. Ignatius smiled.

“I didn’t. I’m Ignatius; no last name.”

“Ignatius No-Last-Name,” Lily repeated, and Ignatius’s smile morphed into a wide grin.

“That’s right. Hey, you know, I think it’s great that neither of us are just like our families. I think we’re going to end up really good fri — ”

“All right, new Slytherins; gather around me, please,” a voice broke in smoothly, and Ignatius jumped. At the sight of Andromeda Black standing expectantly at the end of the table, he shot Lily an apologetic look and clambered to his feet.

“I’d better go; nearly everyone’s filtered out already,” he said hastily. “Have a good first night, all right, Scarlet?” With that, he trotted off quickly in the direction of the big double doors, swiftly joining the group exiting the Hall and becoming absorbed quickly by the crowd. Lily chose not to ponder her new nickname as she watched him go; her mind was consumed by other matters, and as she sat lost in thought, the same low voice broke in over the nervous chatter of her fellow first years.

“And who is this we have here?” Andromeda inquired. When Lily’s eyes snapped back into focus, they were met by expectant chocolate brown. “Please come join us; you needn’t sit by yourself down there at the end.” Moving a little clumsily in her surprise at being singled out, Lily quickly stood, stumbling down to the other end of the long table where her fifteen or so fellows were standing apprehensively at the professor’s side.

“Welcome to Slytherin House,” the tall brunette greeted once Lily had joined their huddle. “I am Andromeda Black, your Head of House, though when in the company of other students and teachers it will most likely be in your best interests to call me Professor Black.” There were several nervous titters, and she indulged them in a smile. “I’m sure that some of you, through parents or older siblings, are aware of the workings of this House, but for those of you who are not, I would like to share a little wisdom.” There was a distinct shuffling as the group moved closer to her, pressing so that the nearest to her were nearly bumping her elbow.

“The Slytherin House,” she stated clearly, “has always had a reputation for being the birthplace of Dark Magic and blood supremacy. In a manner of speaking, this assumption is true; however, it should be noted that we have produced no more Dark witches and wizards than any other House. It is perception alone that creates the impression most people receive, and in light of that, I urge you to venture into your years here with an open mind. Some of you may find that the image projected of this House is one you admire; some of you may disagree. In either case, I think you shall find it prudent to avoid premature assumptions — and that is not in regards to these circumstances alone.” She paused for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. The small cluster of students was silent, leaning forward with eager eyes.

“Alongside that, I have one fragment of wisdom to share with you all,” she continued after a moment of quiet. “It is my fervent hope that you will learn to approach life, always, with a willingness to accept a change in your perception, and never reproach yourself for believing something you previously saw no worth in. It is never too late to change sides.” Her words echoed amongst their ears with blank finality, and hearing their weighted significance, Lily raised her eyes curiously for the first time since joining the group. Almost instantly, she met her professor’s gaze. Rather than cast her eyes downward again, however, she held the contact firmly for a long moment, staring steadily back. Andromeda’s dark eyes flickered with curiosity for an instant so brief that Lily was left wondering if she had seen it at all, but then she turned away, and Lily’s eyes found their focus on the floor again.

Transforming her solemnness into a wide smile, Andromeda stepped back and gestured in the direction of the doors.

“Shall we?” They scrambled eagerly into formation to follow her out of the Great Hall. As they marched down a wide stone staircase and began to twist and turn through the maze of corridors, they all gaped at their surroundings. The walls hung with moving portraits, long corridors decorated by busts and suits of armor and tapestries; vanishing staircases and hovering carpets and large, glittering chandeliers – those who had grown up in magical households had been prepared, but were still stunned into amazed silence by the grandeur of the massive castle. Even Lily, jammed into the back of the group and preoccupied by her shock, managed to look around in astonishment as Andromeda led them farther into the depths of the castle.

In due course, after nearly twenty minutes of complex travel, Andromeda halted before a wall of blank stone. The group halted, and Lily, who had been temporarily lost in thought, realized that they had reached the labyrinth of corridors that connected the school dungeons. The professor gestured to the wall.

“This wall conceals the entrance to the Slytherin common room,” she informed them once they had all come to a halt. “It is necessary to speak the password loudly and clearly unless you want the suit of armor in the corner to keep you in a chokehold until somebody comes along to rescue you. That being said, you must always be cautious when entering the common room, for if anyone other than a Slytherin overhears you, you will be the cause of a breach in House security.” At that information, several of the nervous first years managed to look frightened, but most regarded the announcement with nods of solemn understanding. Lily paid little mind to it; breaching the security of her unexpected House wasn’t something that she currently had the energy to be remotely concerned with.

She did redirect her attention, however, as Andromeda spoke clearly, adder tongue, and a cluster of the stones before them melted away. Following the professor through a short tunnel, they emerged into the Slytherin common room.

Filled with comfortable couches and armchairs and decorated with countless bizarre magical objects, ancient leather-bound books, and sets of Gobstones and Wizard’s Chess, the room was low ceilinged and expansive. Lanterns and wall sconces, in combination with the strange greenish tint that came from being underground, made for a dim, peculiar quality of light. Andromeda turned to face them and gestured to two doors of dark, polished wood, both with ancient runic inscriptions on silver placards.

“To your right is the girls’ dormitory, and to the left you will find the boys’. I suppose I needn’t bother making clear that the girls are permitted in the boys’ dormitory, but not the other way around, as I’m sure you have heard stories detailing precisely that. Your rooms are at the tops of the stairs leading down; your pets and luggage have already been deposited there. Tonight, you may choose which bed you would like, but once you have made your choice, a nameplate will appear at the foot of your bedframe, and that will be your bed for the duration of your years at Hogwarts. Breakfast begins at six o’clock, but please make certain that you are in the Great Hall by eight-thirty, as I will be handing out your schedules. That being that, it is time for us all to find our beds. I shall be sleeping in the Head’s quarters if anyone is in need of assistance. Good night, and congratulations on your Sorting; I shall be pleased to become acquainted with you all.” And with that, she granted them all one last encouraging smile, strode to the other side of the common room, and disappeared behind a tapestry of what appeared to be a family tree that concealed the door to the chamber belonging to the Head of House.

The rest of the group scurried off immediately to their respective dormitories, unburdened by surprise or bewilderment, but Lily remained behind. Apart from still being in a state of shock, she was profoundly curious, and it was only after a moment that she found herself standing before the tapestry across the room. It was not, as she had presumed, a single family tree, but rather a massive and extensive genealogy including every witch and wizard who had ever been Sorted into Slytherin, beginning with the House’s founder, Salazar Slytherin himself. Small golden lines connecting family members were also displayed, and upon examining them further, Lily discovered a thin line connecting Regulus Arcturus Black with Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Andromeda. Searching the broad tree still further, she saw that at the bottom of the tapestry, fifteen new names had been added in golden stitching. With a funny little jolt in her stomach that had nothing to do with three servings of treacle tart, she registered the new name set in the very center of the row.

_Lily Luna Potter._

“Baffled, Miss Potter?” Lily jumped at the sight of Andromeda standing in the shadowed corner at the far end of the tapestry, and a short burst of purple light exploded, causing the professor to freeze involuntarily. Upon recognizing who it was, Lily instantly regained her composure and reversed the nonverbal impediment jinx.

“Apologies, Professor,” she murmured. Andromeda stepped forward.

“No need to apologize, Potter,” she countered. “That was quite impressive. Was that a voluntary reaction?” Lily nodded stiffly; it didn’t seem as though the professor planned on chastising her, but the elder witch was difficult to read. _Just like me,_ Lily realized, feeling something along the lines of pride arise in her. She felt no kinship with the elder witch, and furthermore had no need to, but the knowledge that she and another were alike mollified her somewhat.

“Yes.”

“I see. And have you always been able to perform wandless, nonverbal spells at will?” Lily’s head twitched jerkily in confirmation; Andromeda’s features narrowed in curiosity.

“Would you mind demonstrating another one briefly? Perhaps a simple hover charm?” she inquired. A moment later there was a crack, and she was in the air, dangled upside down by her ankle. “Very well. Let me down, please, Potter.” Another crack, and she was getting to her feet with intrigue visible in every line of her face. _“Levicorpus_ — another invention of Severus’s. I assume your father told you of that spell?” Lily nodded again, but did not say a word. She didn’t look the least perturbed at having just dangled a teacher upside down.

Andromeda studied her curiously. The young witch made an odd picture with her face half in shadow, tall and solemn, the greenish light of the common room reflecting off her vibrant hair and lilac eyes. Andromeda watched her for a long minute before offering up another comment.

“I presume you are aware that nonverbal spells, especially of that difficulty, are a component of N.E.W.T. level studies, and that most witches and wizards never manage to perform wandless magic?” she questioned. This time, Lily spoke.

“I am.” Her voice was steady, guarded, though frank and void of connotations.

“And you know that as a brand-new First Year student, the most you should be capable of is sporadic, involuntary magic that entails no spellwork or intent?”

“I am,” Lily said again, and Andromeda, seeing that she was going to pull no more from the girl that night, nodded her acknowledgment.

“Then you are something else, Potter,” she said simply, and drew back into her chamber, so that Lily was left staring into the shadows in the corner where she had vanished.

After a long moment of gazing at the spot, she turned her gaze back to the tapestry. Her eyes followed the lines depicting endless generations of Slytherins, all the way back to the beginning. Names like Merlin, Morgana, Gaunt, Riddle, Malfoy, Black, Prince, and Lestrange. At the bottom of the line, the golden threads of her name shone brightly in the dark.

This definitely wasn’t what she had been expecting.


End file.
